What More Could A Girl Want
by Ashlee1
Summary: It's Valentines day, it sucks, but it might just be starting to look up


What More Could a Girl Want  
  
By: Ashlee  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, do you? No? Well then who does? Craig Van Sickle and Steven Long Mitchell? Think they'd mind if I borrowed them? Oh okay, well I'll give credit where credit is due: Steven and Craig own the characters, not me.  
  
Authors Note: I've been suffering from a serious bout of writers-blockitis, but it seems that it has momentarily, at least, been cured. So here it is, my first work of fiction in like four months:  
  
  
  
Valentine's Day, a Hallmark holiday dedicated to nothing more than to make those of us with no one even more depressed that we are the rest of the year. I need to find the person who invented this damn holiday and blow his head off. Not only does it make my life harder by making me miserable, but it makes everyone miserable, which means that I have to deal with them. Even people with someone complain about the amount of money they spend and people with no one have a nasty attitude. For Christ's sake they should cancel work on Valentine's and let everyone stay at home with an ice-cream cake, a spoon, and some good chick movies….or maybe one where lots of things blow up – get out some anger.  
  
You want to know what's really sad? Broots and Syd both have dates and here I am sitting at home in my silky pajama's alone drinking vodka on the rocks staring at my fireplace. I miss him, you know. Tommy. It's been almost three years now and I still feel like a piece of my heart has been ripped out. I remember our first Valentine's Day. He brought me a single white rose. He said it signified the purity of his love. With anyone else I'm sure I would have laughed in their face at the cheesy remark, but with Tommy it didn't seem all that cheesy. Weird huh? How you can hate what one person does, but when someone you 'like' does it it's a whole 'nother ball game. Love is messed up. I'm not even sure I know what love is. I mean I know I loved Tommy, but now, after all of this time, I'm not sure that I remember how it feels. The feeling of his arms holding me close is a distant memory; the smell of his cologne is so faint on his unwashed shirts that I have to practically whiff them.  
  
I miss a lot of things actually. I miss being free. It's been five years now that I've been chasing Jarod and not one day has gone by that I felt in control. Not one. To think that I'm a control freak. I think I like to control what's going on around me because I can't control my life. People behind iron curtains are making decisions about my life, watching me, killing those who get to close. So I don't let anyone get close. No one deserves to live in this misery, and I couldn't live with myself if knowing me resulted in another person's death.  
  
Which brings us to Jarod. My childhood love and protector to my adulthood arch nemesis. Once the curer of my pain, now the reason for it. Or at least that's what I'd like to believe, but I think deep down everyone realizes it's a lie, and maybe that's the point. Break Jarod down by having the woman he loves hunt him down like a wounded animal. Have her hate him, despise him, and show him that life behind Centre walls wasn't at all bad compared to his broken heart. That maybe if he returned she would love him again. But it didn't work. Jarod kept running. I kept chasing. I don't know why he cares about me now, after all that I've managed to do. Keep him from his family, hurt him, betray him. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that. I have nightmares sometimes of him blaming me for all that's wrong in his life…if you can call it that. An existence on the run isn't much of a life at all.  
  
The doorbell rings jarring me from my thoughts and allows me to realize I need a refill. I stand and walk to the door, there on the ground is a box wrapped in red, shinny paper. I pick it up and smile. "Thank you Jarod." I say, knowing that he's still nearby, I can feel him. I turn back to the house and shut the door. I get a refill and sit back on the couch.  
  
I remember the last Valentines present he gave me, almost four years ago. It was a mint heart that said be mine. Then he called me. I'll never forget when he asked when we were going to find love. I knew I still loved him then, but what could I do? A captive of the Centre just doesn't leave. Tommy was a prime example of what happens to people who try to help, and while I hadn't met Tommy yet, I knew what the results would have been.  
  
Now, now things are different. I'm no longer willing to sit idly by while the Centre kills more people, clones, and uses poor helpless people to do their bidding. Sitting back down in front of the gift I lift off the top. I push aside the paper, and there is another candy heart. "I love you," I read it to myself and smile. Someone loves me. It's Valentine's Day and someone loves me. Forget the Centre, forget Tommy, forget the nastiness between me and Jarod. He loves me, what more could a girl want? 


End file.
